


Wounds

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, hurt jason, i think idk just playing around idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gun is in his hands and leveled at Black Mask’s chest before he can even register it.<br/>Black Mask takes a step back. “You wouldn’t…”<br/>Beneath him Jason takes in great gasping, gurgling breaths and Tim just doesn’t care about morals anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

Tim doesn’t know how it happened; one minute he’s doing a drug bust side by side with Red Hood, dodging bullets and taking out thugs, and the next Hood is on the ground and his chest is splattered red. Robin doesn’t understand why, because the majority of the thugs have been dealt with and are unconscious on the ground, but then Black Mask steps out of the shadows holding a nice sized hand gun that Tim would bet matched the holes in Jason’s chest.

“Hood!” he’s across the parking lot and on his knees in a nanosecond, one hand pressing to the gaping wound just beneath his ribs and the other is braced against the ground. He hovers above and Hood—hoodless, the red metal lost somewhere around the seventeenth thug—tries to breathe. It comes out raspy with flecks of scarlet on his lips and his eyes are wide beneath the domino mask; Tim feels chilled. Jason shouldn’t go down, Jason can’t go down, Jason had just reconciled with the Batclan, they were getting along, they were living, Jason was living. He can’t go now.

“Well, well, well,” Mask speaks and is on the receiving end of a near perfect Batglare from the Red Robin. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with stopping my transfer, did you? Tut, tut…”

Red Robin keeps his glare up, even as his hands shift to cover the gaping, sucking hole; the noises from the older boy’s chest are horrifying, ingrained into his brain for eternity, the things of future nightmares. They’re shallow and liquid and sloshing.

Black Mask watches the pair closely, eyes resting a tad longer on Hood. “Pity,” he begins with a mocking lilt to his voice. “He has such a splendid build; strong shoulders yet paired with such a delicate face. I wonder how good he would’ve been in my prostitute trade next week.”

The gun is in his hands and leveled at Black Mask’s chest before he can even register it. One of Jason’s; they had been working on him letting his guns go, a bit of a security blanket if Tim took a guess. At least Jason wasn’t using them as much, and he stayed away from fatal shootings. But it was lying there right on the ground by Jason’s hip and Tim takes the chance. Finger on the trigger, eyes narrowed on the sight, hands slippery with the blood of his brother.

Black Mask takes a step back. “You wouldn’t…”

Beneath him Jason takes in great gasping, gurgling breaths and Tim just doesn’t care about morals anymore. He tightens on the trigger.

“Red Robin.”

It’s not Batman’s voice that stops him; it’s the sudden coughing from the ground, the suffocating rasp. He aims at Mask’s knee, fires, throws the gun aside, and turns all attention on the boy beneath him. In the background, Batman goes to the now collapsed Black Mask’s side; Mask curses at his shattered knee cap.

“Jason.” Soft, gentle.

He’s still coughing, still choking on his own blood. It flies up and stains the corners of Red Robin’s mask.

“I’m gonna get you to the batmobile, we’ll have Alfred patch you up. Good as new, bro, okay?”

Batman leaves Black Mask for the police and carries Red Hood to the stashed batmobile, where he lays the boy in the backseat after doing a quick field patch on his injury. Red Robin silently takes the front seat and deliberately does not look at Batman.

In the back, Jason speaks, barely. Tim turns quick to check on him, ask what he needs.

He’s somehow dragged the domino mask from his face and his teal blue eyes roll to glare at Tim.

“F’cking hate guns.”


End file.
